


Petit Oiseau

by Riachinko



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: Body Worship, Coming Untouched, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 12:02:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11463192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riachinko/pseuds/Riachinko
Summary: A fill for a pretty specific prompt to the likes of: "Gaston coming, untouched in this trousers while watching LeFou sing and dance at the tavern."





	Petit Oiseau

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in Gaston's POV, which is something I never do so I hope it works and I did the prompt some justice?

It starts as we drink together, same as always. I've got Laurette resting on my right leg and Paulette on my left. Claudette is LeFou’s. She totters back and forth in front of him, leaning close with her breasts in his face. She pokes his nose.

“Oh! Hello, you've had a little bit to drink tonight, haven't you!” LeFou smirks reeling back from her touch. He's shy under the attention; never been much of a womaniser.

“Your lips look so soft,” Claudette coos at him. And she's right - they do. I only notice because it's quite a spectacle, watching her squish poor LeFou's cheeks, leaning in to press those painted lips of hers to his.

Once I do notice, though, I can't take my eyes off them. Plump and pink, just like a woman's - better, maybe. Women use products to make their lips look fuller, but I've known LeFou long enough to know he uses no such thing.

His eyes dart to mine and away. Then back to mine. He grins.

“Help me out here?”

And it's hero time.

“Ladies,” I say, “your dear sister seems to be making a spectacle. Perhaps it's best if you assist her home.”

They look awfully put out, throwing at me all sorts of excuses as to why they should stay, but I flash my trademark devilish grin and they obey without further question.

Though I do hate to have my company leave, the results of the matter are still favourable. LeFou is still by my side - closer now than before, even - and he orders another round of beer for us, hailing the bartender with one finger in the air.

“You didn't have to send the girls home,” he says to me, but those pillowy lips of his curl upwards as though he's glad I did. “Surely you could have fit Claudette in your lap too.”

He laughs and I join him. “Another time, perhaps.”

He looks me up and down - which isn't unusual - and smiles. It's so warm. Why didn't I notice that mouth of his before?

Our round comes and he passes me my stein, and we drink in silence together, observing the townsfolk in their games and dances and chatter. Armand is playing the accordion for everyone to hear. Someone's got a fiddle over by the fire as well.

“Would you like to play darts?” LeFou asks me, but no, I shake my head.

“Just happy to sit and observe the crowd tonight, LeFou.”

He raises his mug to me and we toast to lethargy, and all the while I can't stop noticing new features in his face. The stubble that dusts under his nose and the soft dimples that form on either of his cheeks when he grins. The little gap in his front teeth.

Not quite a perfect specimen of manhood, like myself, but I admit that tonight, at least, he's rather attractive. I wonder why he hasn't ended up with someone or another by now. 

This is when I begin to feel it. The arousal stirring in my gut. 

I'm no stranger to having idly found men attractive, but in all my years I've never acted on such feelings. Discriminating tastes and all that - it's hard for one to be attracted to someone lesser than oneself. Women are easy; they're soft and sweet and smell like flowers. They're everything that I am not. Which perhaps is why LeFou lures me to him. 

God, does he look soft and beautiful… 

He rises from his seat, one hand on my shoulder to help leverage himself up. Jean has begun to sing an old war song at the back of the bar. “Let's go sing,” he says, offering his hand to me. But I reject it. 

It's about this time that Adelia has come and taken Paulette’s place on my lap, and it's as good a reason as any to stay seated. 

I watch LeFou leave; his waistcoat clinging tightly to his backside, his hips gently swaying as he walks to the back of the bar once more. He casually drinks from an abandoned glass on a table and I find it humorous, that spontaneous charm he's got; if anyone has noticed their drink is empty, they don't complain. 

“Shall we go upstairs, Gaston?” Adelia purrs into my ear. “It's been awhile since we did.” 

Yes. I've been looking to settle down, but Adelia is not wife material. She's a good, malleable fuck, but not wife material. I shake my head at her, brows furrowed, and watch her swallow deep with disappointment. 

“My dear, you've only just got here. Sit and be entertained.” I offer her a sip from my drink, but she ignores it and places it on the table across from me. 

LeFou has begun to sing with Jean; Armand circles them with the accordion, playing slow. LeFou's tenor outshines them both. 

“ _Rois ivres de sang et d'orgueil; Le Peuple souverain s'avance, tyrans descendez au cercueil_ ~” 

It takes me back to the war, when my company and I gathered ‘round the fire, cold and exhausted from a long day's effort, and LeFou - my ever-loyal aide de campe - sang gently to us to calm our nerves, joined on occasions by one or two of the other men who enjoyed singing. On more than one occasion LeFou had been there with me, alone, to recite poetry or hum me to sleep when I was too rattled to otherwise. 

I miss those times…the closeness and camaraderie; the training. A spirited fight. 

Having someone to protect. 

I barely notice the song has ended, too focused on days past, but my thoughts shift suddenly upon watching LeFou bound towards me. 

“Hot over there,” he says. I hum in agreeance. He strips of his waistcoat and I do the same in solidarity - and because I, too, am beginning to grow hot - bouncing Adelia in my lap as I shrug it off. He watches me undress, open-mouthed, lips glossy with spit and ale; Adelia giggles and clings to me. 

His eyes are intensely on my own, as though I'm his entire world. That's the thing I love most about him; he hasn't got anybody else to admire. 

LeFou remains standing, finishing the drink he’d left with me. “Can I get you anything, Gaston?” he finally asks. 

As I grow increasingly frustrated with the situation I find myself in, my fingers drum against Adelia’s backside. She wiggles in my lap and I groan lowly as her ass rubs against my cock, half hard and straining against the fly of my breeches. Lucky for me that I'm hidden from sight by the frills of her skirt. 

But it won't do to have her getting the wrong idea, so I send her away. 

“Adelia dear,” I say, taking her hand palm-up and giving her the proper coinage, “go bring us a round of beer.” 

She smiles but says, “Oh, no thank you, I haven't really got the taste for alcohol.” 

And I've temporarily lost my composure; my will to deal with the fairer sex. I tell her sternly, “For LeFou and me. Bring us another.” 

The poor girl leaves in a huff, but does soon return with the ale. She doesn't stay with me and I'm mildly grateful for it; a good hunter doesn't split his attentions between too many prey. 

LeFou stands waiting, talking to Stanley, and I can't stand his eyes straying elsewhere so I interrupt them, knowing full well that LeFou won't mind. 

“Hydrate yourself.” 

LeFou takes the stein and I raise mine to my lips, sipping lightly, watching his Adam's apple bob as he gulps the ale down. 

“You're sure you don't want to join me?” he says. 

“I told you already, I'm content watching. Go, enjoy yourself.” 

I hook my ankle over my knee, leaning forward in my chair to hide the erection that's blossomed in the short time between the end of LeFou's duet and now, as he turns to begin a solo. 

“ _Conduis, soutiens nos bras vengeurs! Liberté, Liberté chérie, combats avec tes defenseurs!~_ ”

It's mesmerizing to watch him perform - he puts more energy into the song than all his compatriots combined, with subtle foot movements, flicks of his supple wrists…his hair loose and bouncing about his shoulders as he moves: he's a vision.

His tunic clings to him, damp with sweat at the underarms. The white cotton is thin and the back glow of candles as he climbs onto the bar top illuminates his plump form beneath it. I find I can't draw my eyes away - I want to dig my nails into his body and claim it as my own.

Of course I've seen LeFou topless before - naked, even - but God, it's enticing to think I could be the one to get him that way.

“ _Sous nos drapeaux, que la victoire accoure à tes males accents! Que tes ennemis expirants voient ton triomphe et notre gloire!~_ ”

I'm absent-mindedly humming along to the song I know well from my days as a soldier; purring with excitement. Subdued, of course, playing it calm. I'm happy to let LeFou have the attention of the crowd; happy to draw any leering eyes away from the bulge in my slacks, my hips slowly grinding into my seat as I watch LeFou sway and praise our motherland France. 

The ruffles at his wrists flutter as he raises his hands up, clasping them by his cheek as he draws out a note. His eyes are heavy-lidded and dreamy, and I wonder if he is also reminiscing about the war, or if it's just for show. 

But now the song has ended, and the crowd - whoever isn't too drunk, anyway - applauds and cheers. Unsurprisingly, there are some women in the room who appear to be swooning at his performance, but for the time being, almost everyone turns back to their drinks, and LeFou turns to Jean and Tom and Dick. 

I notice LeFou glancing in my direction, silently questioning why I haven't yet risen from my throne to join them in conversation or song. He plays his usual game of eye aversion, and its tedium is driving me mad. 

“No more war songs, LeFou!” I shout, “Sing us something fun so that the men may ask the ladies to dance!” 

Those precious lips of his curl into a smile and he nods at me; runs about to tip the musicians and tell them which song he'll have them playing next. 

He grabs another stein of ale off a barmaid’s tray and places some coins in its absence. He sways and twirls intricately around the patrons in his way; I watch as he bends backwards dodging a full tray being carried past. He takes a swig of his drink, sets it down, clasps his hands together as the preamble plays on fiddle and piano. 

He draws out the first word of the song to get everyone's attention, but he's already had mine for quite some time and I'm beginning to feel drunk more with lust and impatience than by alcohol.

“ _Le soir on cause d'un tas d'choses, avant de se mettre au pieu…~_ ” 

The musicians increase the original tempo of the song and people are indeed dancing; LeFou moves about the floor to pump up the energy in the room, grabbing several womens’ hands and dancing with each one briefly. Come the middle of the song, he hops up onto a table near to me, with his chubby legs crossed at the ankle and arm in the air dramatically. 

Something switches on in his eyes when his meet mine and now we both know I'm truly his only audience and he's here to entertain me alone. He continues to tease me with lyrics.  
  
“ _C'est moi qui suis son petit, et j’effri, et j’effri, et j’effrite. Je suis vive, je suis charmant comme un petit oiseau qui chante~_ ”

The words strike me; make me rock my hips upwards until I'm breathing harshly through my nostrils, leering thin-lipped at him and admiring the gloss of sweat dripping from his brow to his chin.

I want him.

“ _D'autres lui font les doux yeux, mais c'est moi qu'il aime le mieux~_ ”

And he winks at me.

Christ, it's then that I know he wants me they way I want him. I feel like perhaps I'm the prey this time, trapped in my seat, writhing beneath the gaze of my hunter.

But careful, LeFou-- No, the villagers have accepted this as normal behaviour of his...at least when he’s been drinking. Whether they accept his flamboyance as an entertainer, or because they know of his inclinations...well, he’s never run into any trouble because of it. Not since returning home a war hero, anyway.

He's absolutely astonishing when he has a bit of control over me. Oh, _God_ , what am I thinking--

The song ends and LeFou finishes off the last of his beer, licking a stripe up the side of the mug where some ale has spilled over. He looks into my eyes as he does it.

I growl in my throat, and I don't care if anyone hears me. I even reach down to grab my cock - just once to adjust myself from an uncomfortable position. It's past midnight and nobody is sober enough to notice or care anyway, I suspect. I'm painfully hard; not used to being untouched like this - perhaps I should have kept Adelia around - but it's invigorating, in a strange way.

I flex my finger; beckon LeFou to come to me, but he simply smiles with those delicious pink lips of his and wags his finger “no” at me as he begins to sing a foreign song.

Oddly enough, I'm realising that I feel as though I'm close to orgasm. I grit my teeth and try to steady my breathing, but LeFou is lying down across the table on his back, head hanging back, eyes closed. His dark curls spill off the end of the table and whisp around his cheeks.

For a moment I'm vaguely worried that he'll be asked to stop by the bartender, or a patron - isn't he being rather lewd? People really _are_ drunk.

I picture him in my lap, my thumbs tracing the thin white tiger stripes running up and down his soft thighs; my fingers digging into the flesh of his buttocks and spreading him apart. I picture myself up there on that table on top of him, pinning him down with my weight and feeling his neediness rock hard against my own. No matter which split-second fantasy I see him in, he's got his eyes closed just as he has in reality before me, sweaty, mouth agape.

I need to make him mine, but right now-- God, I need to--

“ _Fun is free, get dizzy with me, don't put up no resistance~_ ”

That's it.

As his arms reach up, the back of his hands caressing his face and trailing down his soft, plump stomach…the image is too much. I imagine him on my bed, void of his tunic and breeches. Flesh tinted pink at the curves of his shoulders and under that dusting of chest hair...I want him in his knickers, just as untouched and aroused as I am.

Aching for it.

I rock my hips into as fast and as steady a rhythm I can without making a complete show of myself. LeFou's leg kicks into the air when he hits a particularly high note, and all I can picture is me holding that leg up as I thrust into him _hard_.

The thought of fucking into him is unbearable, and I can't stifle a moan; I let my head hit the back of my chair, I let my eyes close. My nails dig into my legs through the fabric of my slacks and I give in completely to my deprivation. “Ah,” I grunt - softly, I hope.

I find release, heaving a stale sigh up at the ceiling and spilling warmly against my gut into my knickers.

LeFou's tenor rings in my ears as I finish, thrusting shallowly as I come down from the high. I'm in utter awe of the situation. Never have I come undone like that without so much as a hand against me.

I take a brief survey about the room and mercifully, I don't seem to have drawn any unwanted attention.

LeFou rolls off the tabletop; wavers as he gets his footing and once he arrives in front of me, I can see that he is very drunk. He never was able to hold his drink quite as well as myself - not to mention I've been drinking considerably less than he tonight.

His cheeks are rosy and his eyes heavy. He doesn't seem aware of what he's done to me, but I determine to let him know in private.

“Have you been enjoying yourself?” I ask.

He nods a toothy grin. Pushes some stray hairs out of his eyes and says, “Looks like you have been as well.”

“Perhaps more than you realize, old friend.”

He blinks and uncertainty coats his features - those sweet chocolate brown eyes, that mouth I long to devour with my own. His brow quirks with question, but he doesn't vocalise any of his confusion. Instead, he simply hums understanding.

It's awkward to stand with that cooling wetness at the front of my knickers, but I do, and together we make our way to the stairs, bidding adieu to those who wave at us on our way out the door.

“Let me walk you home,” I say when we're outside, and he lets me wrap my strong arm around his soft, compliant shoulders. “You won't be disagreeable if I stay over for the night? I haven't got it in me to make the trek North.”

He shakes his head gently, as his hair bounces and blows about in the breeze. He stumbles a little bit in the dark and clings to my arm tightly.

Only the moon and the odd lantern light our path, but it's a path I know well enough to navigate in the dark and under the influence.

“Good,” I say. Given LeFou's show in the tavern, I feel confident in adding, “You won't be disagreeable if I find another use for that mouth of yours? Other than singing - which you're marvellous at, might I say.”

He balks at first - I can hear him scoff - but then he breaks out into drunken laughter. He's nervous maybe, or in a state of disbelief, but he answers as we reach the steps to his home.

“No, I wouldn't be disagreeable.”

I don't mention the laundry I'll need for him to do for me, nor that he's been driving me crazy all evening, but when he turns the doorknob and the door opens to his small, inviting cabin, he looks back at me. His tongue darts across his reddened lips.

And I think he already knows.

**Author's Note:**

> For the curious music aficionados, the bits of lyrics are from "[Chant du Départ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uqdxBh4ZUeM)," "[La Marseillaise](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PIQSEq6tEVs)," "[La Petite Tonkinoise](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tauFAfQ9Aa8)," and "[Dixie Biscuit](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YnGgGIlnlNI)," and none of them are historically accurate to the time period, whoops. But the first two are close-ish period war anthems and the last two are self-indulgent because I'd love for Josh Gad to sing them ｡ﾟ･（ɵ̥̥﹏ɵ̥̥）･ﾟ｡
> 
> Please give me your thoughts in the comments or message me @riachinko on Twitter or @rudigerblues on Tumblr ^o^


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